


The Very Incorrect Ways of Hitting the Sheets

by Enterthetadpole



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Pillow Talk, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-03 17:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21183083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterthetadpole/pseuds/Enterthetadpole
Summary: A series of eight small and separate mishaps that can occur when a certain demon and angel are still figuring out what love is, and that they are in with it with each other.Based on the softly demanded prompts by The_Queen_of_OTPs. <3





	1. A Plethora of Pillows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Queen_Of_OTPs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Queen_Of_OTPs/gifts).
**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 1: Building a wall of pillows between them.

If you were to inquire to Aziraphale about his sleeping arrangements with Crowley, he’d most likely change the subject. That was not the proper thing to talk about during afternoon tea or a brisk evening walk, or frankly, at any time ever at all. Not that Aziraphale _cared_ what you thought. No, that’s quite beside the point. It’s more about the very notion that what he and Crowley did or _didn’t _do in their bedroom was any of your concern.

And no, he was not being defensive. And yes, he was aware that he said _their bedroom_, but you should not read too much into that. Besides, it was only _their bedroom_ because Crowley had needed a place to stay while his flat was being repaired. Something about how watering a few of his ficus trees ended up in flooding his sitting room. “A couple of weeks, tops,” Crowley had said, and of course Aziraphale had agreed. How many times had Crowley helped him in his time of need? And that was before all that inconvenience of the world almost coming to an end.

That's why Aziraphale was more than willing to allow Crowley to sleep with him. Wait, not like that! He meant _actually_ sleeping with him. In the same bed. That was perfectly fine. More than fine. With pajamas and British sensibilities firmly in place, mind you. Aziraphale _enjoyed_ Crowley next to him in bed. The way that Crowley seemed to get a handle on sleeping way better than anyone else that Aziraphale knew. Not that Aziraphale had been _watching_ Crowley sleep. No, not at all. He was merely taking mental notes as to the best positions one would lay in for the best slumber results. Documenting how Crowley would flex his fingers and toes as he slipped further into his REM cycle. The cute snuffling noises that fell from his lips as he dreamed. The way he said _angel_ at least four times, but not more than twenty six times during the night.

The only thing that Aziraphale would complain about, if he was the type to complain, which for the record he absolutely was _not - _would be the pillows. Or in this specific situation, the _need_ for pillows. If you were to request an explanation of this cryptic last sentence, Aziraphale would most likely clear his throat. Then attempt to change the subject again. If pressed on this topic, eventually you would be regaled with the necessities of seven extra pillows being purchased to stop a certain demon from wrapping his insanely long arms and legs around him like...well, like a snake. Even if it felt so warm and loving and practically like home in ways that up above never had been. 

Then you'd happen to notice the blush appear on Aziraphale's cheeks at this last admission, he would tell you to leave. 

And no, you may _not _buy that first edition of **_Jane Erye_** on your way out.

And absolutely no, he was not using a wall of pillows as a_ fluffy cock blocker_, whatever in the name of heaven that actually meant. 


	2. A Cacophony of Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2: They still wake up tangled in each other any way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our demon is such a soft mess, but we love him, don't we? ♥️🐍

It was actually the fault of fig tree number five that Crowley was in this dilemma. The plant was tall, thin and still currently wedged in the back corner of what used to be the demon's sitting room. Nigel -  _ because that's the stuffy name that plant fuck well deserved _ \- always complained about being thirsty. At least that's the way that Crowley interpreted the melodramatic droop of its petioles and the slight wrinkle of leaf blades. So in an attempt for Nigel to  _ grow better  _ a bit too much water had been applied. 

The sudden indoor swimming pool had cast the demon out of his home just as the Almighty Herself had done centuries before. Granted, at least Heaven had given Crowley a proper two week notice. At least Heaven had not demanded a double security deposit.

Aziraphale sighed sympathetically when Crowley appeared at his front door. Suitcases in hand and a pout that Crowley had practiced since the drive over. The angel had tutted about Nigel as he fed Crowley biscuits and refreshed cups of tea. All smiles and sweetness about it being "no issue at all" for Crowley to stay over. 

That had been before Crowley found out about his nightly habit of entangling himself around an increasingly red cheeked and flustered angel. The first morning of him blinking awake with his nose buried into the crook of Aziraphale's neck had been...awkward. Thank Satan that Aziraphale had assumed that Crowley had migrated to the left side of the bed due to warmth. Snakes being cold blooded and all. 

The second night, Crowley was wrapped in a few extra blankets, and the pillows in between them multiplied. The next morning Crowley woke up drooling on Aziraphale's lap with gently massaging fingers running through his hair. Being snuggled up shouldn't feel this wonderfully good. It was almost sinful.

Almost, but not quite.

Nigel will never let Crowley hear the end of this. 


End file.
